


Evermoore's Magic And More

by AVeryConfusedBird



Series: Assholes Of The Round Table [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Changelings, Demi-Gods, Demons, Devils, Dragons, Dwarves, Elves, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Faeries - Freeform, Fairies, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fights, Ghosts, Gods, M/M, Magic, Mythology References, Other, Pixies, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Shapeshifting, Supernatural Elements, Werewolves, Witches, Wizards, fey, world mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 06:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18987508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVeryConfusedBird/pseuds/AVeryConfusedBird
Summary: What most people comment is that there’s… a magic in the air when you’re there, be it the sea breeze or the eerie woods that cause it who knows. What they fail to see is how tangible the magic truly is. the crackle of a wand, the flutter of wings too big to be a bug too small to be a bird, the howl of the wolves that only ring out 3 nights a month.Magic and Monsters roam the street's of the world, though hidden under among the mortals to protect themselves, having learnt their lesson long ago. On the northern coasts of England resides in a store, where the newest generation of supernatural's will take over in their role of protecting their kind.





	Evermoore's Magic And More

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! please, let me know what you think in the comments, all kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!!!

Along the northern shores at the edge of the country, lies the small city of Wakechester, a quaint place celebrated for its culture and tradition, surrounded on all sides.  
To the north and to the east, The Deadnoque bay and Wintercliff Keep that lies at the very top of the highest cliff, looking down upon the city below, a centuries old fort crumbling and dying where it stands, yet still preserved and protected as well as it could be.  
To the west and south it lays on the on the very edge of the expansive Wyncroft Woodlands, while not as untamed as they once were, a protected nature reserve for miles upon miles, with only two ways to access the city through the main roads. this charming little city has its historic roots deep.

 Old streets are lined with classical little stores, small independent coffee shops and restaurants, well cared for cobblestone streets, winding streets as confusing as they come centered around the famous old market square, old streetlamps still lit by hand each night as the dark begins to crawl in - and not a single building under 300 years of age. Or at least, that's what all the information on the internet tells you - some of the oldest businesses mark their date of start. 1894, 1603, family businesses passed down generation one after each other. what most people comment is that there’s… a magic in the air when you’re there, be it the sea breeze or the eerie woods that cause it who knows. What they fail to see is how tangible the magic truly is. the crackle of a wand, the flutter of wings too big to be a bug too small to be a bird, the howl of the wolves that only ring out 3 nights a month.

 

Our story takes place on Heartgate Road.  
Only a small road, with what was once a series of houses, maybe 10 at the very most, is now a singular large shop. Large old-fashioned lettering in the windows, displays of books available for rental behind it, as well as other offers available for grabs.

 

Evermoores' Magic and More

 

While the shop shows no sign of aging, it’s one of the oldest within the city. While no date is shown, it’s onto its 56th generation of holders.

But nobody could say that.

Who would believe them?

Most people don’t believe in the contents of its holding, books available to rent on demons, monsters, magic. However, those who know better to be very wary of the rituals that lie in the books. Evermoores is dedicated to helping the longest inhabitants of the city, the supernatural. The wolves that come for bane, vampires who come for suppressants, practicing wizards or witches who’ve messed up a spell or require a particularly difficult to handle ingredient. Creatures of myth and legend come from all over to see the shop for one item or another. Another service that Evermoores offers is that of a protective kind. The guardians of the library since its creation have always been a watch, protecting people, doing their best to hide their world from the humans, even as their numbers dwindle as they do. Sometimes monsters hurt people, entirely in control of their actions – sometimes good people become bad and start disturbing the dead. For when these events arrive, those who find themselves living above the library on Heartgate road have a duty to attend to.

Inside the store is no different from your average curiosity shop or library, It’s warm, friendly and inviting. Thick heavy wood shelves line the walls, a large plush seating area sits in the centre, tables and stands around proudly displaying other products for sale – Items most assume are fakes, little titbits only to add to the only magic bookstore feel to the place – almost like walking into somewhere in harry potter some would comment. Behind and below the counter in heavy security protected cases lie the more dangerous items and precious items – Magical yet cursed decks of cards, Working wands, Vampiric sunscreen, Wolfsbane potions, and Glamor tree seeds. Some wonders truly to behold.

 

The morning is early, the sky still dark, the Autumn air thick with the unruly fog. But that doesn’t stop the Hussle of the busy spirits of the dark. Doesn’t stop Safir. Safir was a young gentleman, had been a young gentleman for nearly 70 years now, stuck for the rest of his undeath. In his early 20’s, 23 at most, Safir was dark skinned with short black hair, cut into a neat Hollywood style as it had been since his death. He wasn’t too tall, nor too short, at 5’7 in height, and not particularly special in appearance, a little plain – old fashioned, he’d call himself. Thick rimmed coke bottle glasses rest upon his face, green eyes wide and bright behind, a small smile as he sits behind his type writer typing away. He wore what he had always worn – grey dress pants, a crisp shirt and a green sweater vest, comfortable slacks and at the odd time a letterman jacket. With the ping of the typewriter, and the chime of the clock, he knew it’d be best to start preparing for the day. He’d have the books to keep, potions to brew, spells to practice, all in a day’s work for a resident wizard.

 

He wasn’t the only one up so early, as jagged fangs are shown to the world with a wide yawn the floor above. Arthur as he’d stretch his wings and tail, his back cracking as he stretched with the early morning, already dressing for his morning run. At 25 years old, Arthur is about 6'4 in height and built like an Adonis. Somewhere between 200 and 240 pounds in mostly muscle he could probably crush you between his thighs. But under all that muscle is the soft squishy interior of the world’s biggest sweetheart...oh and a dragon heart. His skin is decorated with flashy red scales that glint in the dim light of the beside lamp, slowly disappearing back into his skin as he begins to return to a more human form, his wings and tail curling in on themselves, folding back up into the skin as if never there, leaving no sign or trace of their previous places as he pulls on one of his many pieces of workout gear. He runs a brush through the mane of unnaturally bright fire red hair attempting to brush the mane into some kind of tamed state.

 

With a knock at the door, Arthur pushes himself from the bed and towards the door, where Lance is waiting, in an equally tired state.

 

Lance stands around 6’1 with a medium build. His ashen blond hair is cut into a neat undercut, close at the sides but ever so slightly longer at the top, covered in scars and with matching cargo pants and combat boots he could be mistaken for a Solider off duty. He stands there, in a state of easy-going dress for himself, not what you’d expect for a long-distance jog, but suitable to fit his needs. With a good morning from Arthur, the pair head out starting out their jog through the backs and alleyways. The adrenaline doesn’t take long to take over lance’s body, as combat boots and undercuts are traded for four paws and ashen blonde fur as the wolf comes out, easy enough to hide in the early morning light when nobody is active. They’ve done this too many times to get caught, besides, you couldn’t tell him any different from a large mutt of a dog when he was fully shifted.

 

It’s much later in the morning by the time they return, the other members of the household begin to arise.

In a rainbow coloured room, an alarm sounds out only to be answered by a slamming fist, as Guinevere begins pulling herself out of bed. It’s not a pretty process, the remains of yesterday’s make-up smeared against her face and pillow, her kinky pink hair frazzled about and in need of the morning care routine as she very literally rolls out of bed, letting out a whine in great discomfort at the colder morning air, wanting to refusing leaving her bed, but knowing better, she pulls herself out. Guinevere is a stocky young woman, about 5’6 in height around 24 years old, with dark skin and thick, curly bright pink hair. Her appearance is well cared for, as her morning routine begins. She’s well-toned and will no doubt stumble over her wand several times before she eventually decides to stick it through a bra strap so she doesn’t keep losing it.

 

At a similar time, in the next flat along, a little smaller hand of dark skin is slapping an equally rude alarm down, however, the owner of the hand finds it much more fitting to curl back up in the warmth of the wedge between his boyfriends chests instead of getting up like he probably should. Cornelius blond hair is knotted and frazzled as he snuggles back down, back pressed against Galahads chest, Cheek resting atop of Percival’s head as he yawns lazily.  
Three more alarms will be silenced before Cornelius will be the first to drag himself from the bed. It’ll be back first, Wings blossoming out with a twinkle of magic as he stretches them, flexing in the early morning light, his magic radiating warmth as he begins to prepare for the day.  
At 24 years old, he stands at a tiny 5'5, deep tanned skin, golden freckles and blonde hair like woven gold, Thick, fluffy and well taken care of and wild is style, He's is very much a pretty boy, very petite in figure, with very little visible muscle. His wings rest between his shoulder blades, big and beautiful. Closer to dragonfly wings, with two sets of them, see through and immensely intricate, like a shattered stain glass window. He blinks his wide eyes slowly, bright and beautiful golden in colour to match that of his hair, as he rolls himself out of bed, tugging on slippers, wrapping one of the trio’s many blankets under his wings but over his arms, wrapping them around him for warmth as he begins to go about his day.

 The next to be up will be Galahad, not woken by any alarm, but woken by Cornelius’ as he hums along softly to whatever is the song of the week, sat in front of their dressing table, make-up scattered about as he begins his morning routine for the day.

At 25, Galahad is a very tall young man, standing at a towering 6'9, he's an often intimidating, dark figure. He's skin is pale, almost pasty white. He is well toned, and very much a lean figure rather than conventionally muscular. He's got very dark eyes, very deep brown that are deep set within his face. His long, fine black hair is a little messy with the morning but much easier to tame than that of his boyfriends. he's got a very sharp, angled faced, with small eyes and a wide smile on his face as he yawns, sparing a kiss to Percival who he well knows is awake, but refusing to move as he swings himself out of bed and over to Cornelius, where he’ll lean down and wrap his arms around the smaller man’s waist, kissing him just as lovingly.

Eventually Percival will pull himself from the bed when his boyfriends have left the room, missing the gentle sounds of their company too much and the smell of breakfast too compelling. He’ll sit up, stretch and contemplate it for a moment before pulling himself from his bed.

At 25 years of age, standing around 6'3, his skin is a light tan, with pale almost grey patches of Vitiligo. His head is a mess of Wild untamed deep purple hair that's fluffy, sticking out at odd angles, a small patch of equally purple stubble on an unshaven chin, and serious, tired purple eyes with noticeable eye bags scan the surroundings as he stumbles about. He puts little attention into his appearance – only just running a brush through his hair, leaving it a frazzled fuzzy mess, or that maybe he’ll barely change from his Pyjamas, but he always puts attention into the littler details - a small, barely notable set of necklaces from Cornelius - a simple black choker with a bell attached, and a longer chain with a small silver lightning bolt. A small bracelet, a gift from Galahad - leather, with simple runes pressed into it, a protection spell. a secret little pocket in his favorite hoodie where two simple matching bands lie, heavy against his chest for when he is ready to use them.

He’ll slouch as he walks, stumbling after the presence of his boyfriends as he enters the kitchen, draping himself over Cornelius, peppering his face with kisses and a grumble that vaguely resembles that of a ‘good morning’, before he’ll push himself back up and over to Galahad, pressing his face into his shoulder, kissing gently until the larger man turns and kisses him back, earning Galahad an equally unenthusiastic ‘Good morning’ in response to his kisses.

 

 

Across the city, there’s a flicker of a shadow as the morning light truly begins to consume the city, a mystery of the night as a stranger darts towards the darker parts of town, hopping from shadows to shadows, running along the old thieves highway with a practiced ease as it enters in through a window in a dingy little bedroom, a member of the night.

Annie yawns, closing her window and pulling the blackout blinds down, bathing her room in darkness as she settles with the end of her shift, her friends likely doing the same downstairs as she is the last among them to return, as always.

Annie stands at a height of 6’0 exactly, with deep tan skin, pitch black hollowed eyes and stark white hair, pulled into a neat bun for ease as she pulls out the pins, letting the hair fall to shoulder length. Boots, prosthetic legs and blades are exchanged for a nearby pair of pyjamas as she crawls into bed exhausted, leaving the world outside to that of the morning folk.

 

As the members of the reckless settle for the night, the members of the library begin preparing for a day of likely shenanigans and customers.

Cornelius is already setting up behind the counter for his morning shift, Arthur and Galahad work together to set up the seat and the sofas, Lance checking the phone for any left messages on jobs, Safir quickly sorting out the books on the shelves, hands working quickly with 50 years’ worth of experience under his belt, Guinevere working quickly in the window to arrange it for the morning, Percival checking the magical wards and bonds around the library. The morning is already in motion, as Myrddin makes his way downstairs.

Myrddin is an elderly elf, well into his 700 hundred’s he has finally reached his long-deserved retirement. A tall man, with rather wild only now graying, but once a pale blond hair. His old fair skin beginning to wrinkle, his eyes droopy but still bright with life and love, and a calming smile that could help on the worst of days. A very lithe man, only just beginning to walk with cane. It’s how he’s always been, as long as his little family had always known him.

He steps down the stairs slowly, eyes glancing over the group with a fondness only a father can present as he greets each of them at work. Despite Myrddin’s age, he knows very well every single one of his kids, his little family. He remembers exactly how he met every single one of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading!!  
> if you want to know about updates they can be found on my twitter and tumblr!!  
> [Here is my twitter](https://twitter.com/VeryConfuseBirb)  
> [Here is my Tumblr](http://v-e-r-y-confused-bird.tumblr.com)  
> Here are a bunch of spottily playlists based around this work!  
> [Arthur](https://open.spotify.com/user/xmtqkjkms8l37j1c4l44maf7i/playlist/55P4pGCOGIuFgaYFentK08?si=dCoxxPpFRa6a8tDSSFgbXA), [Annie](https://open.spotify.com/user/xmtqkjkms8l37j1c4l44maf7i/playlist/1BGxY5s5O60zVdoQYelKZW?si=7YEkW-0BRue1sRXpYxcRdA), [Cornelius](https://open.spotify.com/user/xmtqkjkms8l37j1c4l44maf7i/playlist/6k6xHTBjNISTXeLyiuODzZ?si=kNmlHT4JSvuyr-ef6JuE4g), [Galahad](https://open.spotify.com/user/xmtqkjkms8l37j1c4l44maf7i/playlist/6NkkcqxsMWkWgr0Eh8nKdL?si=gPpDeStgQMS7ay6m39X1_A), [Guinevere](https://open.spotify.com/user/xmtqkjkms8l37j1c4l44maf7i/playlist/4P63FRzSZ1CgoLPE5fu6Zv?si=m6u_v3EbTSmO3qZ28KbQEg), [Lance](https://open.spotify.com/user/xmtqkjkms8l37j1c4l44maf7i/playlist/6AshjuZs1RgpzkTqPlLbo1?si=6EzE8-5cTG2qD-WAs2lUtA), [Percival](https://open.spotify.com/user/xmtqkjkms8l37j1c4l44maf7i/playlist/4ltHxaOgDtrz2stmLgRELA?si=PAal0YHsTh6M6sneeYWqnw), [Safir](https://open.spotify.com/user/xmtqkjkms8l37j1c4l44maf7i/playlist/7qhONf7XBolzojW6Spm2gI?si=hk89MbQYTvSpGhTC_Bwzpg)  
> Bonus Playlist based around [Galahad, Percival and Cornelius' relationship](https://open.spotify.com/user/xmtqkjkms8l37j1c4l44maf7i/playlist/2qW4SUv5e2uiG8vr1hdZaQ?si=2mBy8OKETcSE5ryHI5XAZg)


End file.
